


just jot me down on your to-do list under put out like a fire

by r1ker



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, force handjo banjos, yeah i wrote it go on ahead and draw up the lawsuit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 03:44:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5693326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ker/pseuds/r1ker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is sin and i owe no one an apology</p><p>title from the bloodhound gang's many 90's raunchy hits</p>
    </blockquote>





	just jot me down on your to-do list under put out like a fire

**Author's Note:**

> this is sin and i owe no one an apology
> 
> title from the bloodhound gang's many 90's raunchy hits

Han is out doing repairs on the Falcon when he first feels it. At first he thinks it’s due to the poor air circulation in the hangar trapping all the heat in, causing him to feel like he’s burning from the inside out. Then it hits him like a gentle baseball bat to the face.

 

His gut aches with a sudden need, need for something that’s not what he’s getting right now. Something in his mind is searching for his weaknesses and pinpointing them one by one. The wrench falls from his hand and clatters to the grated floor of the Falcon, and he all but staggers back to sit on one of the bench seats.

 

 _If my memory serves me right, you’ve never had this done to you by a man, have you?_ Christ, that’s Luke’s voice in his head, clear as rain but nonetheless consuming more of him than the fog of lust on his brain. Han shakes his head like the voice can understand that gesture. His cock aches in his trousers, desperate for a touch that his hand can’t seem to manage right at this moment. The voice – Luke’s voice, that’s Luke’s voice, lilting words and questioning tone – implies things Han never thought it would.

 

Gentle pressure then all encompassing grip washes over him and Han’s hips fail to remain still, jerk helplessly in the open air. He’s so thankful it’s just him in the Falcon now, everyone else long gone for the night, which he can succumb to something like this without judgment.

 

 _I can only guess what it feels like to come apart like this,_ the voice introspects to Han. Han says nothing, gulps hard against a lump forming in his throat. The pressure reaches a fever pitch, Han’s brain producing nothing but lifeless static. His hands grip painfully to the steel seat beneath him in a desperate search for traction. _Giving yourself over like you’re doing right now. You’ve wanted this for a long time; I can see it in you._

“There’s a lot of things I want,” Han rasps out with his hands struggling to find the strength to pull down his pants. He acts like the voice is really Luke’s hand, warm and soft but worn gently around the edges like Luke himself is like. “Consider yourself honored to be one of them, pal.”

 

That voice in his head would be smiling if it were in front of him as Luke’s presence. _I’m flattered._

 

If he puts his mind on the right track Luke’s right there on him, near him, with him, soft breath gentle in Han’s ear as he searches for the right balance of pressure and speed to produce the maximum effect.

 

 _You’re my first,_ the voice informs, like it’s matter-of-fact. _The first one I’ve had the privilege of having._ Han is astounded, mind torn in a thousand different directions as he tries to picture this. He’s the first person Luke’s ever done this with, if this can even be considered in that way.

 

Han groans in raw need for that very scenario in real life and not just in his head. Luke would fit so perfectly alongside Han, hell, maybe even on his knees so everything about him could be focused on that one simple task of drawing pleasure from Han with just his presence and touch. Those eyes going up and down his frame, deciding what the next move should be to intensify it all.

 

Han muffles the cry that grits out of him with his teeth digging into his palm. He comes on the tail end of a pathetic whimper, darkening his pants in a wide circle. The voice is breathing in his head, a soft rasping noise grinding against Han’s nerves. _You’ll never know what you looked like just then._

 

His chest is heaving and he fumbles behind him for a rag, something to clean himself with. His heartbeat is still slamming in his ears, blood rushing to make a roar alongside it.

 

“Jesus, kid,” Han lets out on a loud exhale of pent-up breath. “Jesus.”

 

 


End file.
